


I Looked East and West

by faege



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faege/pseuds/faege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You are at a crossroad. You will always be at a crossroad.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Looked East and West

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Robert Johnson song "Cross Road Blues." Inspired by [this ](http://i49.tinypic.com/dza0k0.jpg)header (from [this post](http://community.livejournal.com/graphicinmotion/11899.html#cutid1)) by [](http://secretlytodream.livejournal.com/profile)[**secretlytodream**](http://secretlytodream.livejournal.com/).

You are at a crossroad. You have always been at a crossroad.

Gravel crunches under your feet, rubbing and biting like snapped bones. Fog rolls past in dark clouds, spirit-like, enough to prompt you, _salt and burn_. The scrub is thigh-high in some places, rustling in the night wind like a beast after its prey.

You do not move. You are a part of the crossroad.

Before you stands a peeling post miming a compass, pointing battered arrows to the earth’s four corners. You stand before it, solemn and staring, the sign that points to the gates of Hell. Perhaps you are bound there yourself one day. Perhaps you are the gate through which others will pass, the means by which they descend.

You do not think of your brother.

Somewhere beneath your feet is a box of bones and a picture. Somewhere beneath your feet is the boy who pulled you from the fires. Somewhere beneath your feet is the demon you exorcised—one, many, they are a number and they are beneath your feet.

You make your choice. You have always made your own choice.

 _No_ , you say to tear-filled eyes, to the worried face of a man who is so loyal to you that he lies to himself to keep you safe. _Yes_ , you say to black-filled eyes, to the mocking face of a heart-broken man whose body withers under an archangel’s power.

You are not dead. You are not alive.

You do not have a body. You are pulled apart.

You are Samuel Winchester. You are the Boy King.

Bones snap and rub in their casing of muscle and skin. Flames lick over you, chasing the salt that was rubbed in your wounds. A throaty growl tears through the darkness, sometimes followed by a high whine, like wind whistling through the eaves. There is a beast and there is its prey—no one will tell you which you are.

You are at a crossroad. You will always be at a crossroad.


End file.
